


Five People Who Woke Up In Ozai's Bed

by Kalliopestarmist (KalliopeStarmist)



Category: Avatar: The Last Airbender
Genre: 5+1 Things, Canon Het Relationship, Drunk Sex, F/M, M/M, One Night Stands, Psychoanalysis, Sex is the best diagnostic, Walk Of Shame, parent generation
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2012-03-07
Updated: 2012-08-23
Packaged: 2017-11-01 15:19:53
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,722
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/358321
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/KalliopeStarmist/pseuds/Kalliopestarmist
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>...plus one person who didn't. Because everybody has that one person they shouldn't have gone home with, and for a surprising number of people, that person is Ozai.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Ursa

**Author's Note:**

> Well, having come into possession of a shiny AO3 invite, I decided I need to cross-post my latest achievement.

_We got drunk and had sex. How did you think your mother and I met? The tooth fairy?_

_(Man, I hope you smarten up when you hit your teens.)_ -A Softer World 418

  
  


The night before, after spending a few hours hanging out on the balcony, sipping fruity cocktails and watching the other guests dance, it had seemed like a good idea. She never would have been there had her parents not insisted that she go to this ridiculous ball and ‘network’ with the other noblemen's children. Well, she had networked, all right. She had networked the hell out of the guy next to her. Teach them to make her further their political agenda.  
  
In the cold, sober light of day, however, her elaborate revenge against her parents by sleeping with the first guy to take an interest in her seemed a little lacking.  
  
Her young-adult act of rebellion still had an arm wrapped around her when she woke up, which was either sweet, or maybe a little too possessive. She shrugged it off her shoulders, along with a lavish silk counterpane, so she could twist onto her other side and face what she had done last night. He wasn’t bad-looking, proving her fruity-cocktail-and-bitterness goggles were as functional as ever. He even looked age-appropriate, finally past that horrible insecure pimply-faced stage and starting to look like a man who could _totally_ grow a beard, he just _chose_ not to.  
  
His eyes were closed, but since he had moved his arm in a rather sentient manner to give her room to roll over, she assumed he was awake. Well, no sense shirking her damage-control responsibilities now. She cleared her throat before saying nervously, “Um, I, ah... had a good time last night?”  
  
“Good,” the young man next to her grunted. He opened one narrow, golden eye and frowned, as though processing what the correct response would have been. “I mean, uh, I did, too.”  
  
“You don’t remember my name, do you?” she asked, calculating the odds that her parents would even notice she had been gone all night, let alone assume that she had spent it cavorting at a strange boy’s house. _This was my dumbest rebellion ever._  
  
“Ursa” he countered, so quickly that she suspected he had remembered specifically in case she accused him of not knowing. “Do you need me to tell you mine?”  
  
“Uh...” Ursa tried to recall relevant snatches of conversation from the night before. They’d complained a lot about their parents, but had he actually introduced himself? _Let’s see, we had one dance together once the entire party was too tipsy to notice us… we stole half a plate of those shrimp off the buffet table and ate those together… I think he sucked cocktail sauce off my fingers, which was hot at the time but doesn’t really help… Then we walked back to his place, right? Wait, did I call him anything when we were fucking? I seem to recall screaming some- Oooh. Oh, did that even really happen? Who_ asks _for something like that?_ She sucked in her breath, preparing for the worst. “It isn’t ‘Ozai’ by any chance, is it?”  
  
He opened both eyes, looking mildly surprised and a little grateful, like he had woken up with a hangover to find a bowl of fireflakes from the night before on his pillow. “Yes.”  
  
Ursa winced. No, that had really happened, no matter how much she might wish otherwise. “...did you ask me to call you ‘Firelord Ozai’ last night?”  
  
“Ah...” he hesitated for a second, then decided that he had already done whatever damage resulted from expressing his kinky political fantasies to a stranger. “Yes. I did.”  
  
“And I did it, didn’t I?”  
  
The answer came faster this time, and with a consoling tone to it. “Yes. Yes you did.”  
  
She groaned as she rolled into him, burying her face in his shoulder. “You have to hold me until I stop being ashamed of myself,” she informed him flatly. “You owe me.”  
  
Ozai shifted to hold her more securely against his chest. “Is this going to take a while?”  
  
Ursa cringed again as her brain replayed her a snippet from the night before. A snippet involving, among other things, the phrase ‘royal scepter.’ “Probably.”  
  
“Good.”  
  
She was just dozing off to sleep again when another memory hit and she raised her head to look at him. “Did you really offer to declare a national holiday honoring my breasts’..." She wrinkled her nose in distaste, trying to recall the exact phrasing in all its glory. "...services to their country?”  
  
“What can I say, I'm a poet when I'm hard," he said with a grin that was trying to be embarrassed but looked a little too pleased with itself. He rubbed his fingers invitingly over her neck, and she decided she could let last night's phrasing slide. "You’re not going to hold me to it, are you? Your breasts are really nice, don’t get me wrong, but my father already thinks I’m not fit to lead, I don’t think that would help my case." The neck massage stopped abruptly as Ozai glared moodily at the dragon tapestry on the opposite wall. "At least I’m interested in breasts and not tea, but no, precious Iroh’s fetishes are-,”  
  
“Iroh?” Her subconscious finally woke up with the rest of her and started screaming that she was missing some key information on her situation. “ _General_ Iroh?”  
  
“Oh, don’t," he whined, shooting her a betrayed look. "It’s my own damn room and he’s my damn brother, I’ll call him whatever the fuck-,”  
  
“Your brother?!" There was a flashing moment of clarity. "Then that makes you-,” Ursa sat bolt-upright, astonished into forgetting the arm trying to cuddle her. Her hair caught in the hand at her neck, tugging sharply at her head as she whirled to stare at him in something akin to panic.  
  
“The Firelord’s son?" Ozai finished for her, sitting up beside her. He shrugged and set to work disentangling his hand without scalping her further. "I assumed you knew. It’s not like there are a lot of nobles named ‘Ozai’ kicking around parties and- Are you all right?”" He laid his now-free hand on her shoulder as she turned an unhealthy shade of green.  
  
She clamped a hand over her mouth, moaning, “Oh, spirits. I think I’m gonna be sick.”  
  
“...my reputation isn’t that bad,” Ozai muttered resentfully.  
  
“It’s not you, it’s your family, and my family..." she whispered, mostly to herself. Her hand left her mouth to rub her temple uneasily. Her brain was threatening to develop a migraine solely as a coping mechanism. "You don’t know who I am, do you? Of course not, you never would have talked to me...”  
  
He caught her as she tried to turn away and pulled her back to face him. “Shh, calm down. Listen, I would have talked to you no matter what. Do you have any idea how long I was lurking in the balcony doorway trying to figure out a way to talk to you last night? Like two people asked me if I was looking for the bathroom." She smiled a little, and he leaned in to kiss her. "I don't care who your family is. It’s not like you’re... I don’t know, Avatar Roku’s niece or something.”  
  
Ursa's face went completely blank. Ozai smiled reassuringly at her. She raised her eyebrows pleadingly. Ozai stopped smiling.  
  
"...Granddaughter?" she suggested timidly, trying to grin hopefully and just half-grimacing instead. He closed his eyes, fell forward slowly, and would have flopped right over the side of the bed if his forehead hadn’t run into her collarbone first.  
  
“...fuck,” he whispered into her cleavage. She reached up automatically to pat his head.  
  
"There, there. It was an honest mistake. I'll just slip out the back door and we'll never see each other again.”  
  
Both of them contemplated this for a long, dejected moment.  
  
“You said you wanted to get dinner with me sometime, last night,” he reminded her breasts.  
  
“I know. I remember," she sighed, then resolutely put her hands on his shoulders and pushed him back up. "But it doesn't matter. Now that we know, we can't-,”  
  
Some of the fire flashed back into Ozai's eyes. “Why not?" he demanded. "Why shouldn't we see each other again? There's nothing wrong with you. Every family has its bad eggs. It's not as though _you're_ a- a pacifist."  
  
Ursa drew back, offended. "Of course not!"  
  
"Then why can't we go get dinner? It's absurd. Who cares?"  
  
"Well, my _parents_ , for starters."  
  
"Your parents? I understand why _my_ father might object, but why wouldn't they like me? So I'm not my brother, I'm still OK. You could do worse for yourself."  
  
"It's just, they'll say..." She growled and clenched the sheet under her into a fistful of silk. "Oh, they'll say that you couldn't possibly have any honorable intentions towards me because I'm just _so_ undesirable, and that you're just going to take advantage of me and ruin my reputation."  
  
His eyes swept over her body. "Um... last night..."  
  
"Don't confuse 'virginity' with 'reputation', you're too old for that. No, my parents ignore me, unless it's something that affects _their_ social life, then I'm worth yelling at."  
  
"Aw, they sound like Dad," he said. "Well, do _you_ still want to see me again?"  
  
"I would like to," she sighed, shaking her head, "but I don't see how-,"  
  
"We'll find a way!" Ozai declared, grabbing her hand and sounding rather excited about the unexpected challenge he was accepting. "I don't care if I have to show up at your door with an armed escort and make your parents let you out for the evening! This can happen!"  
  
She smiled, a little sardonically, and cocked an eyebrow. "You aren’t used to not getting want you want, are you, Prince Ozai?"  
  
He seemed to miss the wry tone behind the statement. “No, just the opposite, I never get anything I want,” he said earnestly. “My father thinks I'm worthless and my brother doesn't think of me at all, and between them I'm chopped liver. But this time I'm taking a stand, burn it! You were a good idea, and I'm not going to give you up without a fight. I'm not running away and hiding just because-,"  
  
Something rustled and chinked outside the door. Ozai's voice immediately dropped to a hoarse, urgent whisper. "Shit, it's the servants! Hide!"  
  
Ursa threw herself down flat on the mattress as he yanked the counterpane over her. He pushed some of her hair off the pillow and under the covers as the door opened.  
  
"Breakfast, Prince," a man said pleasantly.  
  
"Just put it on the nightstand."  
  
"And should I bring something for your guest?" the servant asked amicably as he set something down next to the bed.  
  
Ozai's tone could have frozen lava. "What guest?"  
  
"Ah- er-...right. Enjoy your breakfast, Prince Ozai."  
  
The door closed again, and, after a moment, Ursa wiggled inquisitively. Ozai lifted the coverlet.  
  
"The coast is clear, you can come out now," he said. When she emerged, he offered her a fruit from the ornately-decorated bowl that had appeared during her time in hiding. "Strawberry?"  
  
She nibbled on the strawberry absently while glancing between the breakfast tray and the door. "Um... did anyone... see us come in last night? I wasn't paying attention... My last boyfriend didn't exactly have servants awaiting his every whim and spreading gossip on the side."  
  
"No one saw us. I'm not a total rake, whatever your parents might think. I know how to be discreet about these things. And I can order a covered, unmarked rickshaw to drop you off at home. No one'll be able to say you didn't spend the night at one of your girlfriends' manors."  
  
"That's a relief," she admitted, licking some berry juice off her fingers. "I was getting worried about what I would do if one of the royal guards caught me climbing out your window and over the garden wall."  
  
Ozai gaped at her. "You were planning on doing that?"  
  
"Well, a girl has to be prepared for anything if she's going to last long in this game," she said with a bright smile. "Are you going to eat the rest of that fruit salad? I had a bit of a workout last night... and I love pineapple."  
  
Ozai blinked, picked up the dragon-patterned bowl off the tray next to him, and held it out to her. "How do you even scale a wall in a party dre-,” he started to ask, then regrouped his mental forces, smoothed back his silky black hair suavely, and put on a charming smile. “So... about next week... I know a place that makes great manta-shark fin soup."


	2. Jeong Jeong

  
_Go on, guess. Guess whose shit I am totally sick of._

_(It's yours!) -_ A Softer World 641

  
Those initiated in the ways of the human spirit know that there were many ways to assess the caliber of a man’s soul, the inner workings of his mind, the deepest yearnings of his heart. Each man is unique, and interacts with the universe around him in a way that is unmistakably his own. Everything from the way he chooses his words to the slightest movements of his fingers, his favorite bending forms to how he buttons his jacket, left some clue to the infinite mystery of his identity, if only you know how to read him.  
  
Generally, though, when trying to get the measure of a man, the members of the Order of the White Lotus agreed that fucking him was your best option. A good game of pai sho would suffice, too, of course.  
  
Jeong Jeong had decided to go the safe route on this last assignment. After all, this affected not only the Order’s affairs in his home country, but what he was going to be doing for the next forty years.  
  
For fuck’s sake, what had happened to Prince Iroh? They’d spent a long time on him. Jeong Jeong had been _ready _for Firelord Iroh. He had, in fact, been looking _forward_ to Firelord Iroh, something he had apparently done a very poor job of concealing.  
  
Ozai had called him out on it the day before. He had greeted in their first private audience together with a cup of tea and a “I suppose my coronation was something of a disappointment to you. My brother seems so into surrendering these days, I’m sure you were looking forward to advising him.”  
  
He was still annoyed with himself over that. It had been almost a decade since Jeong Jeong had realized what kind of monster the Fire Nation had turned him into, and since then he had kept his position on the War Council through sheer bloody dishonesty. It had not been easy to plant the seeds of pacifism in Firelord Azulon’s court, especially when simultaneously restraining the urge to punch General Buijing right in his loud, fire-forsaken mouth. * He had thought he had the others fooled, that he could gently guide his whole country to the truth without ever revealing his disgust with the whole bloody element and everything associated with it.  
  
(*Pacifism is a hard habit to learn.)  
  
He’d never paid Prince Ozai the least bit of attention. There wasn’t much to pay attention to, just a vain, spoiled second son grubbing for as much inheritance as he could get his entitled little hands on. It had never occurred to him that Ozai might be paying attention to _him_. It wasn’t good strategy to go into any confrontation with the element of surprise working against you, but that was the thing about element of surprise. It was surprising.  
  
Tradition was on his side, at least. It was customary for high ranking advisers to play an introductory game of pai sho with their new sovereign. And while it was not strictly traditional to end the introductory game by inviting said sovereign to rip off your clothes and have his way with you, it was certainly not a novel concept.  
__

 

__\---_ _

__Jeong Jeong awoke the morning after his ‘private audience’ to find himself alone in the royal boudoir. Apparently starting one’s reign as Firelord required one to wake up before dawn, which was fine with Jeong Jeong. He needed time to meditate and formulate his report. His friends in the Order had recommended the practice to ‘gain a more enlightened view of himself', but mostly it just made him feel bitter and broken. A waterbender wouldn’t have the kind of trouble he did clearing his thoughts. Fire simply did not create a conducive mindset for quiet self-reflection.  
  
He assumed the position they had taught him, sitting cross-legged on the floor in only his trousers, hands resting lightly on his knees (check), spine straight (check), tongue resting on the roof of his mouth (check), breath steady and deep, (check). He closed his eyes and called back his memories of the night before.  
  
What could you say about someone who started his game with the Starboard Current Opening? Impulsive, flashy. And that Sitting Nightingale Gambit... that had been unexpected. He would say it denoted a lack of worldly attachments, a certain nonchalant attitude towards personal sacrifice. Ozai’s game was very offense-heavy, although not as lacking in strategy as purely offensive strategies generally were. Not a planner, but no idiot. Outwardly-focused energy.  
  
The sex confirmed this impression. The foreplay had been... not rushed, but fast-paced, fierce. Impatient, goal-focused, not someone who spends much time in the moment. More teeth than tongue in the kisses. He had definitely drawn blood biting down on Jeong Jeong’s lip. What did that suggest?  
  
 _Lack of consideration for your partner,_ Jeong Jeong thought bitterly, licking his injured lip. He took a few steadying breaths and forced his mind away from his aching body and into a more objective state. Last night had not been about having a good time. Nobody was asking if Ozai was good in bed, they wanted to know what kind of man was leading the Fire Nation. So what could Jeong Jeong gather from the bite mark on his lip, bruises on his chest, burn welts on his shoulder.. and his back… and his left asscheek- _son of a bitch, was that sex or an Agni Kai?_ he thought as he yanked a pillow off the bed for some extra padding.  
  
 _Six of one, half dozen of the other, really._ Jeong Jeong was no stranger to a little bending in the bedroom. Indeed, it was one of the few places he felt he could use his bending without causing any harm. A little added heat on all the right places was the opposite of destructive, and, not to brag, but nobody who had been on the receiving end of a Jeong Jeong handjob had ever had cause to complain.  
  
This was not the sort of bending that Ozai’s presence encouraged, though. Frankly, for the amount of practice Jeong Jeong had keeping his temper banked, it was _disturbing_ how riled up the new Firelord had gotten him, (just by being himself, so far as Jeong Jeong could tell). It had taken more self-restraint than he had used in the last ten years combined not to mortally injure the man and his smug pretty face.  
  
But at least he _had_ restrained himself. Ozai’s definition of ‘restraint’ probably involved shibari. Or shackles. Probably both. If you brought up “meditation” around him, he’d probably laugh himself silly and keep on thrusting. Jeong Jeong was not much of a pacifist and he wasn’t great at sitting calmly and dispassionately dissecting himself, but at least he made the effort! Was it too much to ask of this sun-forsaken country that their leader stop and think about his own actions once in a while? It wasn’t safe to have a ruler with that much anger bottled up.  
  
And Ozai was _angry_. One didn’t get to that level of focused violence without having some sort of strong emotion behind it. Jeong Jeong could tell that Ozai had told himself it was hatesex with a political dissenter, but last night hadn’t really been about punishing a suspicious counselor. Oh, he pulled his head back by the hair and dug his nails into his thigh and said things like “I’ll teach you to respect your lord,” but it had seemed so impersonal. Ozai was having hatesex with the world. Jeong Jeong was just the nearest part of the world.  
  
He opened his eyes and stretched his legs out of their crossed meditation position. It worried him that Ozai was so unaware of his own mental state, but on the other hand, hadn’t he once been an angry, confused, oblivious wreck? Couldn’t Ozai’s anger be the beginnings of the same disgust Jeong Jeong felt with his country? Maybe one round of pai sho and a little casual fucking wasn’t enough to decide something of this magnitude. If only he had paid the second prince a little more attention before this.  
  
His eyes lit on a ceramic teapot and cup on the dressing table, next to the remains of breakfast. Ah, that could help. Where pai sho and sex failed, seeing how Ozai took his morning tea would decide the matter. Jeong-Jeong unfolded himself, joints cracking audibly all the way, and ventured over to the breakfast dishes. One glance into the teacup was enough to confirm his worst fears.  
  
The Order wouldn’t be happy. He knew for a fact that Piandao had been practically holding his breath for a truce, something about wanting to spend a year at some famous forge or other in the Earth Kingdom without losing his Fire estate. Well, Jeong Jeong had no sympathy. If it meant so burning much to him to learn to make more of his little people skewers, he could sacrifice a little comfort.  
  
 _Said the man who hasn’t been willing to give up so much as his suite in the palace for the sake of peace,_ Jeong Jeong berated himself mentally. If there was one thing his night with Ozai had convinced him, it was that he was well past due for picking a side.  
  
“Just when I thought my camping days were over,” he grumbled to himself as he set down the cold half-finished cup of coffee._ _


End file.
